An Affair And Other Wanderings Pt 01

Jennifer was 36, a mother of two small children. She was petite, about 5'3", 120 pounds, with long, straight blonde hair. She had a California attitude and look to her, but she was actually from Colorado. She had a different vibe to her, independent, confident, and adventurous, yet somehow she melancholy and pensive.

In high school, Jennifer was a repressed free spirit, secretly rebelling against her conservative parents' strict, religious upbringing. Her parents trusted her, perhaps too much, and weren't aware of her partying and wandering from the straight and narrow. After graduation, she attended the University of Colorado, but almost flunked out her freshman because of too much excessive partying and not enough studying. Her parents gave her the option of attending community college for a year, and then transferring to Colorado State, or they would cut off all funds. In reality, it was more of an ultimatum.

Jennifer eventually got it figured out, earning a Bachelor's in Finance from CSU. After working for about 6 months, she embarked upon a year-long hiking trip throughout Europe, living off savings and working odd jobs, most often as a bartender.

After her meandering, she returned to the states, and completed an MBA at the University of Texas, where she met the man who would become her husband. He too was working on a Master's in some field of engineering. They met the last few months of their degree programs, got swept up in a whirlwind romance, and married within 6 months.

They both worked various corporate jobs over the next few years, eventually landing in Denver, where they started an engineering firm. They bought a house, made friends, got involved in the community and had two children, a girl, and then a boy.

To everyone - family, friends, those in the community - they were a happy, young couple, perfect for each other. But, insides the walls of their seemingly idyllic home, a different narrative unfolded. Because they had dated and married so quickly, Jennifer didn't really get to fully know her husband, the real man behind the mask he wore. She didn't know the conflicts that existed within him. He was never physically or even emotionally abusive. Yet, over time, he established barriers, preventing any real intimacy. They were husband and wife, parents, business partners, but not lovers. Sex was a mere physical act, devoid of any emotional connection or bonding, or shared vulnerability. Over time, she too built walls to cope and protect herself, struggling to maintain her identify and sense of self-worth, living with a man incapable of opening himself to her, while appearing to everyone else as the ideal husband and father.

Their business grew, allowing her the freedom to stay at home with the kids, and teach online courses at the local community college. After a few years of reaching out to her husband, imploring him to seek counseling to no avail, she decided that she needed to retake control of her life. Their business was such that her husband could work remotely, traveling or returning to the home office when necessary. She researched and applied to several graduate schools offering PhD programs in business. She had decided she wanted to pursue academia as a career.

My situation was less complicated. I was almost 42, and I had been divorced for almost four years. During that time, I had dated, and had a few not so serious relationships, but nothing enduring or remotely permanent. I had currently been dating Laura for about six months. She was a VP for Capital Bank in Richmond, about two hours from DC. It was a convenient and she was important to me, but again, not too serious. I didn't know where it was going. I definitely wasn't moving to Richmond, and any advancement in her career would take her further south to Charlotte, NC. We saw each other about two weekends a month. Though we had never agreed or even discussed exclusively dating one another, it was mostly assumed, although I guess we were free to go out for drinks or dinner if we met someone. For the time being, the relationship was working for both of us.

For the most part, I was in a good place, and I was content with my situation, which offered a great amount of freedom and autonomy. I could come and go as I pleased, and teaching at the university offered me abundant opportunity to travel from late May until early August.

I definitely wasn't looking to have an affair with a married woman, particularly one who was a doctoral student at the university where I taught.

Jennifer was searching for something that had been missing from her life for a number of years. She desperately needed to redefine herself, rediscovering a purpose and meaning, not connected to him. Something beyond dutiful wife and mother. In the two previous years, she had considered having an affair. She had actually even met a few guys for drinks, but never followed through with anything. She was searching for a connection on multiple levels. She craved intimacy ... emotionally, intellectually, and physically.

I met Jennifer in one of her first classes. I had been asked by a colleague to make a presentation on research-based argumentation in an introductory business class to the PhD program. From past experience teaching the class, the instructor of the course had decided that while her students were proficient in research, and organizing and presenting material, they wrote with no clear purpose or rhetorical intention. Their papers lacked passion and commitment. The professor had asked me to lecture during a class early in the semester, which I did, providing them an overview and strategy for their research. I also talked about finding topics about which they were passionate, encouraging them to find a connection to their research, and begin the journey of finding their voice. I then made myself available to them throughout the semester. Again, I was single and had plenty of disposable time. My daughter was in her junior year of high school. She was independent and self-sufficient, involved in everything, wanting to spread her wings and like most teenagers, spend more and more time with her friends. I had the time.

Most graduate students in a PhD program are overwhelmed. In addition to taking courses, they are required to teach a class. They are being challenged both in and out of the classroom. Jennifer had even more responsibilities outside of school with a five year old daughter and three year old son at home, and a husband who was consumed with building his business. Yet, she was one of the few students who took me up on my offer for additional, as-needed assistance.

Initially, we met in my office once or twice a week. I helped her focus her research, and then began providing insight into improving her writing she began submitting drafts to me. We mostly discussed finding and developing her writing voice, one that was consistent with a perspective that was faithful to both her research and her true self. After a few meetings, we connected on more than a professional level. We enjoyed one another's company, and moved our meetings to a local coffee shop, most often after hours. It almost seemed natural and appropriate for her to open up to me about her situation at home, and the effect it had had on her over the years. Yet, she was optimistic that she was emerging from a darkness into a greater awareness of who she was and who she wanted to become, as a professional and as a woman.

The attraction between us was palpable. We were connecting intellectually and emotionally. We like each other, and we liked spending time together. We had engaging and stimulating conversations, and she began to open up to me about her relationship with her husband. It wasn't so much of a problem, but for her, the conflict was real, intense, and ever present. She was developing strong feelings, and a passionate and deep bond with a man who wasn't her husband, who was a professor at the university where she was pursuing her PhD. Despite the spoken and unspoken concerns, we opened our hearts to each other, ignoring prudence and any complications that might arise.

As we continued to meet, we discussed her writing less and less. Our conversations focused on us, and we became quite open, sharing our needs, wants, dreams, and hopes ... our fears and misgivings. She shared her longing for authentic intimacy, and the desire to connect on a much deeper level than she had with her husband. I too communicated an abiding loneliness with which I had always lived, forever searching for one with whom I could be open and honest, pursuing a deeper, more profound sense of affection, closeness, and vulnerability. Eventually, we begin to flirt with one another, nothing too sensual or salacious, but quite purposeful. I guess we were both sending out signals, looking for a response. Nothing was ever said. We never said, "Let's have an affair." However, both of our intentions were clear and understood. However, she did want to proceed slowly and obviously discretely, which I too favored.

One night, after actually discussing a problem she was having with her research, we ordered a final refill of coffee. As we sat across from one another, I slid my hands across the table, resting them on hers. I squeezed them gently. She looked up, and we stared intently into one another's eyes. We decided it was time to move forward, and we arranged to meet at my townhouse two days later.

It was about 8 when she finally arrived. We were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts. She wore a light sweater. She had brought a bottle of wine. I uncorked the wine, poured two glasses, and we kicked off our shoes, and sat on the couch, our feet resting on a large ottoman. We drank and talked for a while. Even though she was nervous, the connection which we knew was strong seemed even more substantial being alone together for the first time.

After a few pleasantries and initial chit chat, the uncomfortableness began to subside. Our conversation drifted toward the possibility of our fantasy becoming reality. As we continued to open ourselves to each other ... our desires and longings, our apprehensions diminished. I slid closer to her, placing my hand on her thigh. She seemed happy and relieved that I had made the gesture. After talking a bit longer, and then after a prolonged moment of silence, I asked if I could kiss her, and she said, "Yes."

I leaned over, and we kissed deeply and passionately. It was the summer, so we were both wearing jeans and t-shirts. We were immediately consumed in the moment, almost instantly becoming intoxicated with one another's presence ... the touch of our lips, the embrace, the wandering hands ... the insane reality that we were actually venturing down this path ... together.

After kissing and caressing one another for several minutes, I slid my hand under her shirt, and under her bra, cupping her breast and tweaking her hard nipple, causing her to moan and breathe deeply, and kiss me more passionately. I continued kissing her even more intensely, alternately rubbing her breasts, pinching her nipples. Suddenly, I broke our kiss and pulled slightly away, allowing both of us the opportunity to remove our t-shirts, and her quickly unclasping and removing her bra. Immediately, I began to suck her breast, sliding my hand between her legs and rubbing her pussy over her jeans, pressing firmly against where I knew her slit to be, paying special against to where I imagined her clit. She slid her legs slightly apart, inviting me to press even more firmly, moving my hand up and down, at times using my palm. I removed my mouth from her breast, began kissing her again, and she responded by kissing me more deeply, breathing more heavily and moaning more deeply, as my left hand once again found her right breast and nipple.

As we continued to kiss, my hand slid back down her stomach to the top of her jeans. I unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, and slid my hand inside her panties, touching her wet pussy for the first time, briefly rubbing her clit, but then inserting one, then two fingers, which I moved in and out slowly, over and over again. She was so wet. Continuing to kiss her, I slid my fingers in and out, pushing as deeply as I could inside of her before removing them and returning my attention to her clit. For several minutes, I alternated between rubbing her clit, and moving my fingers slowly and deeply in and out of her pussy, causing her hips to move slowly sync with my thrusts.

I withdrew my hand from her pussy and her jeans, and stopped kissing her, and slid off the couch in front of her. I removed her running shoes, leaving her socks, and then quickly slid her jeans off, with her assistance. She looked at me; the desire and longing in her eyes captivated me. I noticed she had a small strip of trimmed blonde hair and a small, flower tattoo, just to the right of her pussy. I stood, kicked off my slip on shoes, unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, quickly sliding them along with my boxers to my ankles, where I quickly kicked them to the floor.

Her ass was on the edge of the large chair. She reached up with her right hand, eyes locked on my, and gently touched the tip of my hard cock with her fingers, causing me to shudder. As I moved toward her, she spread her legs wide, making it easy for me to slide my cock into her awaiting, wet pussy. I kissed her, deeply, as I began to slide my cock in and out, fucking her slowly, but pressing deeply as the passion and intensity between us increased. Her hands found their way to my ass, and she began to pull me toward her with each thrust.

I continued to increase the pace of my cock sliding in and out of her wet pussy. I steadied myself, with my hands to her sides. I would look to her eyes, and then at my cock sliding in and out of her pussy. I continued fucking her until once I looked into her eyes, and noticed tears. I slowed the pace, and then stopped, with my hard cock still inside of her, asking if she was okay. She didn't say anything, but I could tell something was wrong. I pulled my cock out of her pussy, and sat back on the ottoman. She sat up in the chair, and curled up a bit.

We talked for a few moments, her expressing her apprehensions and apparent guilt. After a few more minutes, we decided to get dressed. Although she had considered having an affair for years, and had actually met a few men for drinks, she had never been alone with a man in this environment, and had never kissed another man, felt his hands on her breast, and most definitely not had his cock in her pussy.

After dressing, we went into the kitchen to have another glass of wine, which we did. We continued talking for a few more minutes, her wondering if it would be best if she left. I replied that it was up to her. She was conflicted. She so wanted to be with me ... explore the passion and desire that existed between us ... embrace another ... connect ... fuck. But, the feelings of guilt troubling her.

After a period of silence, and sipping wine, and staring, longingly into each other's eyes, I asked if I could kiss her again, and she said, "Yes." I kissed her, immediately pulling her close to me, her hands instinctively moving up towards my shoulders. I am sure she could feel the almost abrupt hardness of my cock, but still kept kissing me, becoming more and more passionate.

I slid my hands down the back of her jeans, under her panties, gripping and squeezing her ass, firmly as we continued to kiss, pulling her closer to me so she could feel my cock.

I then moved my hand to the front of her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, and pulling them apart. I slid to the side of her so that I could slide my left hand inside of her jeans. I rubbed her clit, and she slightly spread her legs. I then inserted my finger sliding it in and out for a few moments before returning to her clit. She offered not the least bit of resistance.

I leaned over and turned off the light and then, as I knelt before her, I pulled her jeans and panties down her legs, and her over her feet with her assistance. I moved toward her pussy, lifting her right leg over my shoulder, her bracing herself against the stove. I licked the full length of her wet pussy several times, interesting my tongue as deeply as I could with as much force as I could. I then began to lick her clit, hard, with my hands on her ass, pulling her pussy toward me to create more pressure.

She began to moan with pleasure as I continued to lick her clit, even more so when I moved my left hand to her pussy and inserted one, then two fingers. I continued to lick her clit while I fucked her pussy with my fingers. The passion and the intensity of the moment continued to increase, her getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

I could sense her orgasm, as she released an expressive moan of pleasure. But more so, I knew when she had cum, because she ejaculated, squirting onto my face and t-shirt.

I slowly removed my fingers, and stood. I kissed her, passionately. I knew she could taste herself on my tongue, and she could still feel my still, hard cock.

We broke our kiss, and as she looked into my eyes, I saw no guilt, only lustful desire. Never taking her eyes off mine, she moved her hands to my jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, sliding her left hand inside my boxers, slowly stroking my cock. Again, not taking her eyes off my, looking up, she kneeled and slid down my boxers and jeans, releasing my hard cock. Cupping my balls with her left hand and the base of my shaft in her right, she took me into her mouth, deeply. She slid my cock in and out of her mouth, moving her head back and forth, slowly, on occasion, and taking opportunity to tilt slightly, and look back into my eyes.

She released my balls with her left hand, allowing for better balance, and synced the movement of her mouth and right hand on my cock, slowly at first, but then becoming more steady, and eventually a quickened pace. Almost, immediately, I was ready to explode. She continued feverishly stroking and sucking my cock, until I uttered, "I'm going to cum," which seemed to intensify her efforts. I felt the orgasm coming and said, "I'm cumming, at which point she removed her mouth, extending the length of her stroking. I exploded onto her face and released a long moan, displaying the intensity of my pleasure.

She slowed her stroking, and then began to lick the cum from my cock, cleaning it completely.

As she stood, she pulled on her panties and jeans on, as I did with my boxers and briefs. She took a towel from a nearby hanger, and wiped her face. We both smiled at each other, at that moment, not fully realizing what had just happened between us. We walked back into the living room, and talked for a few more minutes, acknowledging and expressing how erotic, intense, and unique the moment was, and the obvious physical chemistry and connection between us.

After a few more minutes, it was time for her to go. I walked her to the door. She had had time to think, and I quickly wondered if this would be a one-time meeting, a need fulfilled, a brief encounter. I kissed her again, and asked her if she wanted to see me again. She nodded and said, "Yes," almost under her breath.

I kissed her again, and said, "Good."

I opened the door and she left. Our affair had begun.